


Lessons in Bending

by darthvair65



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Braeden POV, F/M, Human Derek, Spoilers for Season 4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 05:02:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2256774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthvair65/pseuds/darthvair65
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of connected drabbles about Derek's relationship with Braeden post-season 4</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lessons in Bending

**Author's Note:**

> This actually came as a surprise to me, because I pretty much only read Sterek within the Teen Wolf fandom - but recently I've come to really adore the little bits of information we get about this particular relationship, and I wish they got more screen time. I really love the idea of them, and wish we got to see more of what they're like together.
> 
> Unbeta'd, so if anything jumps out please prod me~

Watching Derek come to terms with the loss of his werewolf powers – the very thing that defined him, that made him feel at home with himself – made Braeden’s heart ache.  She never once admitted it though, because saying such a thing to him would probably end up doing more harm than good. Despite the strong front he put up, Braeden could tell that he was in a more fragile emotional state than he wanted to admit. The loss of his sense of self was weighing on him, that much was clear. It wasn’t until after they were both released from the hospital that she allowed herself to care more – someone had to try and teach Derek some self-preservation after all, so why not her?

Braeden didn’t expect the contented feeling that bloomed in her chest when he curled against her back at night, providing extra warmth and unspoken comfort, nor the feeling of relief at seeing him unscathed after the firefight; she wasn’t prepared for the fierce undercurrents of terror when she learned that the red-haired banshee had predicted Derek’s demise – but the worst was the gut-wrenching despair she felt as his pulse became thready and weak and blood from a gaping wound in his side made the dirt beneath her feet soggy and stained. It wasn’t until later, after she’d mindlessly wrapped his stomach just to keep everything inside and had lifted him off the ground over her shoulders to take him to Scott and Deaton, that she realized she’d been crying the whole time.

More than a month later, Derek was up and walking again, his side still tender and the healing scars vivid red. Braeden had waited as long as she could before she needed to work again – until Derek didn’t need to have the wound cared for daily, and he could eat and use the bathroom on his own again, and now that he seemed to be a lot better she didn’t really have an excuse. She’d been offered a job tracking down a wendigo attacking campers in the Sierra Nevada mountains two months ago, and the monster had nabbed yet another camper three days ago.

“You know I’ll be back, right?” she prompted in the middle of the produce aisle. This was a new thing for both of them, the first time they’d gone grocery shopping together.

“Try not to get eaten, first,” Derek replied, voice low and sardonic.

“Please – I’m a professional,” Braeden smirked, piling vegetables into the cart he was pushing. In her head, she checked off the nutrients each one would provide now that Derek actually had to pay attention to that sort of thing.

0o0

Wendigos are nasty SOBs on a good day, but the job goes relatively well – Braeden doesn’t return to Beacon Hills with any new scars, but she does come back with a few new toys and another tale to add to the pile of untold stories. It took nearly two weeks to track the monster down, but being stuck in a jail cell while the camper she rescued insisted she’d been the one to attack him had been a fun, new experience.

After pulling in to Beacon Hills around 3 AM, Braeden briefly debated her destination. She could check into a motel for the night and show up at Derek’s the next morning . . . or she could just let herself into his apartment and curl up in his bed. That choice was infinitely more appealing than the first.

The top of the line security system she’d insisted he invest in was still working, so after punching in a code and scanning her handprint Braeden pushed the heavy sliding door open as quietly as she could. It locked solidly behind her, and she dropped her bag and guns on the couch with a soft thud. She cast her gaze over the rest of the loft, finding the bed off in yet a different corner, off to the left of the huge window (thick, bullet-proof plexiglass now, thank you very much). Derek was curled up in the middle of the bed, the blankets twisted and bundled up until they resembled a makeshift pillow he could wrap himself around. He grumbled something unintelligible as she slipped in behind him, molding her body to Derek’s back.

(If Braeden flashed back to the first time she did that, when his skin was several degrees colder and sallow with blood loss, she forced the memory down with as much mental brute force as she could muster.)

“Welcome home,” Derek mumbled, voice thick with sleep. “Job go well?”

“I’ll tell you all about it after I sleep for fourteen hours,” she grunted, burrowing her face into the nape of his neck as she allowed herself to relax for the first time in a month, falling asleep easily.

The next time she opened her eyes, she was alone in bed. A brief glance around the loft placed Derek on the couch, fixated on a book in his lap. After rolling around lazily for a few minutes Braeden dragged herself out of the warm, comfortable sheets and tugged on a pair of Derek’s sweatpants. She thought about snitching one of his softer-looking shirts, but opted to remain in her sports bra instead. Padding over towards his couch and kitchen, Braeden took in his completely relaxed position complete with a look of total concentration. She peeked at his reading material and her smile broadened: Stilinski had discussed a consulting position if he could get through the proper classes and training courses, and Derek seemed to still be taking the offer seriously.

It wasn’t a money thing, that she knew – Derek was sitting on Tony Stark levels of wealth from what she understood, so money really wasn’t a problem – but it was tied to Derek’s sense of purpose now that he was almost fully human. He wanted to be able to help protect Beacon Hills, the same way all of his family had before him.

She kissed his cheek in greeting, combing her fingers into his hair before pulling away to forage in the kitchen. “Glad to see you’re still taking Stilinski’s offer seriously. It’s not every day you can get into the Sheriff’s Department,” Braeden said, shifting some of the contents of the fridge around.

“He took me out to the shooting range last week,” Derek said. “I’ve gotten a lot better.”

“You’ll have to show me later,” she said proudly, before cutting herself off and frowning at the jar pushed all the way to the back of the fridge.

Braeden knew that there were some things Derek would never admit to needing or wanting, no matter how far they’d come together. He’d a come a long way from the denial and overwhelming feeling of loss he was experiencing when she first started showing up at his loft on her own whims. For the most part he’s accepted the change, far more gracefully than he could have, but that doesn’t mean he was completely content with it.

The unopened jar of pickles in his fridge is evidence of that. Braeden knew for a fact that they were the exact same ones they bought on a quick grocery run over a month ago based on the expiration date. She stared at the jar, her eyes narrowed as she tapped her fingers against the edge of the door, contemplating how to approach it.

It should have been this innocuous thing – it was just a jar of pickles after all, but it was a jar that had been left unopened for weeks, after Derek had strolled through the snack isle with intent. He’d clearly wanted the pickles, but somehow the jar had been pushed all the way to the back of the fridge, as if the sight of it offended Derek. Braeden tilted her head in thought; being unable to access something you need or enjoy even though it was _right there_ was the worst feeling ever, which she could commiserate with.

“You’re going to let all the cold air out,” Derek said pointedly, padding quietly into the kitchen in bare feet and sweatpants.

Braeden didn’t respond, other than to reach into the fridge and pull out the giant jar filled with fermenting vegetables, gripping the vacuum-sealed top tightly. It was a tight seal, one that she could barely budge. Finally it gave way, popping open loudly. Braeden could feel Derek’s gaze on her as she reached in and pulled out a pickle, only to recap the jar and put it back in the fridge. She took a big, crisp bite of the vegetable, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she headed back for the couch – and she didn’t say a thing when he dropped onto the couch beside her with the jar in hand and half a pickle sticking out of his mouth. She was totally ok pretending her actions were selfish in this case.


End file.
